


Resonant Echo

by imatrisarahtops



Series: Components: V, S, M [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Introspection, Loneliness, Lonely Essek Thelyss, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imatrisarahtops/pseuds/imatrisarahtops
Summary: He leans forward slightly, glancing curiously at the shadowy figure.  Essek has never really considered other timelines before and the possibilities they might hold.  After all, he supposes that if this is the timeline that has played out, that there must be some reason for it — that this version of himself did something to win out over all of the others.But as he gazes at this alternate version, this shadow, this echo — he suddenly finds himself stopping and staring in a more critical light.  Why was it that his timeline had continued on instead of being severed abruptly, stunted and stopped?  Why was he the one sitting there, the one who wouldn’t shimmer and fade away after casting a single spell?What had he done to deserve it?With the Mighty Nein away, Essek is left to consider his loneliness.  He doesn't let himself think about how he misses them, or how things could be different in another timeline.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss
Series: Components: V, S, M [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664953
Comments: 2
Kudos: 75





	Resonant Echo

**Author's Note:**

> I've had notes on this fic for about six months, at this point. But, of course, the pandemic hit and mental health has been a challenge.
> 
> In other news, I've started graduate school, and I'm working on getting my masters in liberal arts. I'm taking a writing course at the moment, and I actually used this fic's concept to write the sentence about the papers on Essek's desk for a mini-assignment. That made me finally actually properly finish this! It isn't my favorite work, but it felt good to write again.
> 
> In the near future, I'm hoping to venture more into the world of original fiction. I plan on self-publishing _possibly_ using Tapas and then also using a Patreon for early access to chapters. Hopefully if I do start that and people here are interested, I'll be able to share more information then!
> 
> * * *
> 
> _I am vindicated,_
> 
> _I am selfish, I am wrong;_
> 
> _I am right, I swear I'm right,_
> 
> _Swear I knew it all along._
> 
> _And I am flawed,_
> 
> _But I am cleaning up so well._
> 
> _I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself._
> 
> "Vindicated" by Dashboard Confessional

Essek doesn’t count the number of days it’s been since the peace talks — however, even with the effort he puts into _not_ noticing the time, each minute passes by with his awareness. He knows _exactly_ how long it’s been since the peace talks concluded.

Which means he knows _exactly_ how long it’s been since he last saw the Mighty Nein. Time is one of his specialties, after all.

He tries to shake away the sound of seconds mentally ticking away in his head. He has work to do, work that he can busy himself with before the Nein return, before… things change. He still sees no redemption for himself, but he swears sometimes that he can still feel the ghost of Caleb’s lips pressed gently against his forehead, granting him the opportunity to change things, to try again. He does not wish to throw that away. This second chance they’ve given him means too much — _they_ mean too much —

_Caleb_ means too much.

He closes his eyes. He takes a breath.

His tower is quiet. He reminds himself that he likes it that way. With the silence, there is nothing to distract him so that he can focus on the countless things he has to do and lose himself in the time. With the quiet, he can let his spell books consume him as he reads through theory, the words on the page echoing louder in his head. With the stillness, he can work through experimental spells, drawing sigils that dance in the air with a graceful and precise hand.

He doesn’t think about how after nearly two weeks, he’d give all of that up for just a moment of the warm chaos that comes with the Mighty Nein — shouting and teasing and swearing and laughing. He could imagine Caleb and Nott — no, _Veth —_ still in his laboratory, working through the transmogrification spell, but he doesn't. He could recall the feel of Frumpkin sitting in his lap, purring with fingers in his soft fur, but he doesn’t. And he definitely doesn’t think about how he almost wishes for the sound of Jester’s voice, signifying one of her sudden messages at the most inopportune times. He could reach out first, after all… but he doesn’t.

(But he does promise himself that when they all return, he’ll take her to the best bakery in Xhorhas.)

He doesn’t think about any of it, because if he did, he’s afraid he’d have to admit that he misses them. Already, they’ve made such a larger impact on him than he’s comfortable admitting.

So instead, Essek locks himself away in his study, determined to dedicate his time to working and keeping himself busy; he’s good at that, he muses. Yet even as he sifts through the expectant papers on his desk — setting aside urgent legal proposals from the Council, warily eying secret encoded documents from the Assembly, glancing longingly at ink-stained spell notes from Caleb — the silence bears down on him suffocatingly, reminding him that he is, as always, alone.

Before he realizes it, he’s reached for the obsidian with his spell components. Before he can truly think on it, he finishes the verbal and somatic components, as well.

A shadow of himself sits before him.

It doesn’t do anything to quell the loneliness.

He leans forward slightly, glancing curiously at the shadowy figure. Essek has never really considered other timelines before and the possibilities they might hold. After all, he supposes that if this is the timeline that has played out, that there must be some reason for it — that this version of himself did something to win out over all of the others.

But as he gazes at this alternate version, this shadow, this echo — he suddenly finds himself stopping and staring in a more critical light. Why was it that his timeline had continued on instead of being severed abruptly, stunted and stopped? Why was he the one sitting there, the one who wouldn’t shimmer and fade away after casting a single spell?

What had he done to deserve it?

He considers the infinite number of moments, the decisions made — each line reached a point where it branched out in a hundred directions, onto another point that again branched into a hundred more. He looks at the Essek in front of him and cannot help but ask, without really speaking a single question aloud.

_Had this Essek betrayed his country, as well?_

_Had he also sat in the room when a human among a group of misfits had held the missing Luxon Beacon above his head?_

_Had he been touched by that same group, pestered into companionship until he let down his walls, shown what he was missing by refusing to let anyone in?_

He reaches a hand out, and he hesitates. What might have this Essek accomplished in his stead? What if he had been given the opportunity? Would this Essek be afraid of what working toward redemption might mean? Or would he do it easily and readily, desperate to be good, longing to combat the loneliness?

Would this Essek have the courage to send a message to Jester first? Would he be traveling with the Nein, right now? Would he be discussing theology over tea with Fjord and Caduceus and Yasha? Would he be laughing with Nott and Beau and Jester and their antics? Would he be comparing spell books and notes with Caleb?

Would this Essek have been less afraid to really show his cards to Caleb, or would he still be holding them close to his chest? Would he know more of the feeling of Caleb’s hands in his, the feeling of Caleb’s lips on his skin? Would he have the pleasure to experience these in a capacity other than the other man trying to convince him he is not a lost cause?

Essek runs a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair and tilting his chin up toward the ceiling. His eyes are closed as he inhales through his nose. He reminds himself that this is precisely why he doesn’t think on these things. There is no real use to it, no benefit, no good.

He straightens, sitting up in his chair again. He takes a deep breath, immediately diverting his gaze to his desk, not meeting the eyes of this shadow of himself. He tells himself that he should dismiss the echo, that he has no real intended use for it.

Instead, Essek picks up the closest paper to him — what happens to be a scrap of parchment with hand drawn sigils, Zemnian scrawlings around the edges. He does not smile at the familiar sight — at least, he tells himself he doesn’t, even as he feels the corners of lips twitching up fondly without his permission.

The other version of himself stays.

He lets himself believe that with that echo of a presence, even in the silence, he is not completely alone.


End file.
